


Release

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Don't Read This, Ficlet, Just don't, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, What Was I Thinking?, not even worth it really, seriously, way too fucking dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's burdens are sometimes too much to bear. He finds release the only way he can. Short ficlet to help me get through tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> I don't need hate over this, okay? I'm dealing with some stuff right now and this was how I coped. So if you decide to read this despite my trigger tags that's on you.

Sometimes the pain just grew to be too much. The images would come flooding in and he'd run to his room, lock the door behind, and let himself succumb to the terrors. He would lose the control of his lungs and gasp for air as the world would swirl around him. He'd tried every remedy he could find for the attacks, but the only thing that ever really helped was the knife. He would try everything else first, the breathing, the counting, the redirections, but when all those failed he'd reach for the silver knife under his pillow and twirl it in his fingers, letting the shimmer of the light reflecting off the edges mesmerise him. He'd carefully run the edge across the thin delicate flesh of his thigh, and the sudden sting and wet warmth would calm him in ways nothing else could. It was the only way to make the images stop. After, he'd clean the cuts with alcohol, and this second sting would bring on a euphoria like nothing he could describe. That would last a while, but then would come the crushing guilt, and he'd bury it in alcohol. This was his cycle, this was how he coped. It wasn't healthy, but it was how he was able to get out of bed in the morning and keep on existing. The knife was his friend, the blood his release.


End file.
